The thief of visions
by shadybabe101
Summary: A self-proclaimed outcast, Megatron begins to question himself, not only about his previous oppressive ways but also about his last fine strands of sanity. But a sudden appearance from an unexpected "acquaintance" and the gaining of some bewildering information will send the former warlord to lengths he has never dared to venture. He is put in charge of another life...
1. Meeting

**Diun-a month**

 **Orbital cycle-1 day**

Two ruby spheres of fire gradually scanned the horizon as blackened shapes licked the rusty metal surface; dawn. Not only was it the dawn of a new orbital cycle, but the dawn of a new era, one that was to be filled with peace and tranquility. An era that was to drown out the seemingly never-ending silence, which slashed deep lacerations into many. Including himself…

Despite the "glorious" and long awaited revival of the robotic planet, it did nothing notable or significant to him. For once again it appeared that he had become the lesser of his race, an aimless wanderer, scavenger, in search of his next meager refuge.

 _Home_

He'd never liked that damned word. It left a foul taste to slither off his glossa and into his innards. They were for the high castes; egotistic and haughty Cybertronians who had cared very little for his welfare, so much so that the welfare system was virtually non-existent. In the end, the richer you were, the swifter you fell, no matter your age.

Age determined nothing. It was a negligible number and created boundaries and limitations upon a person. Of course, age had never stopped him from slaying mechs and femmes in the pits, nor did it stop him from drinking in the enchanting whimpers of an Autobot soldier attempting to weakly dislodge his mighty blade from their very spark chambers. Rivers of the bright blue liquid would pool over his retractable sword and stir his inner monstrous desires from their slumber. His victim would've _then_ noticed that sickly and repulsive glint in those vermillion orbs and then…

His intakes stalled and wheezed as he tried to eradicate those lingering thoughts as well as the small amount of energon that threatened to erupt from his intake. The past was no longer relevant, but it would never leave. Reminders would be plentiful and they would latch onto him and ultimately drag him down until he could no longer function with their nagging presence.

Those ruby spheres of fire flickered where once they had flared as they fell upon the destruction before him. Misty hallucinations of the past danced in front of his mangled frame in a taunting manner. Screams of grief and wails of distress swarmed his audio receptors.

 _He did not believe in spirits_

Growling in a flurry of disbelief, the large mech trudged forward while paying no mind to the transparent forms glaring icily at his newfangled frame. Even with the hideous transformation that had befallen his physique, the apparitions looked on at him as their yells became mute. It was now that the realisation of the entire circumstance hit him, hard. The past **wanted** him to remember. Every meaningless repugnant life that had ended upon his very servos, they were all to become the chains to his downfall.

He halted his motion, letting the scale of the calamity sink deeply into his processor. Above him, lengthy clouds littered the pale blue sky and they observed the lone mech before them. Even the roaring sun was eager to see the following unfolding events and rapidly pierced its way through the clouds for a better view. The potent mech felt the sun's rays glide swiftly across his frame, a comforting gesture, and in any other circumstance perhaps such a _gesture_ would have been genuinely welcomed.

 _But not here_

 _Not ever_

For before the clouds and the sun stood a miner, the lowest of the low. Where his voice went unheard and unacknowledged. Where every orbital cycle he managed to endure was spent avoiding the unforgiving grasp of the mines' watchmen _and_ the mine owners. Where he became fully aware of the horrifying punishments that his fellow miners had to withstand if they "stepped out of line".

His optics, those fearsome unfaltering vermillion balls of rage, had seen more devastation, destruction and delirium in one diun than any higher caste Cybertronian had seen in a lifetime.

Before the clouds and the sun stood a gladiator, a bloodthirsty warrior who slaughtered conceited combatants and reduced them to a whimpering mess. Where he entered the dreaded pits of Kaon to die a honourable death, but instead gained a sudden understanding to value and appreciate his life. Where he _earned_ his name and identity for the very first time. He finally became someone rather than a mere shadow. Where he became acquainted with a higher caste mech who had sought out his presence for longer than he would ever know.

Those bewitching aqua optics, inviting and warm, made him question not only himself but also why he had caught the smaller mechs' vigilant optic. Why had he felt the need to saunter up to the very Pits of Kaon and demand his presence? Perhaps demand was a marginal overstatement. Orion Pax was not a mech to make demands, to give out neither orders nor decrees. He didn't think it possible to feel so out of place next to the tiny mech but yet so gravitated towards him. Never had he encountered someone so full of knowledge that he could simply sit for joors and listen as Orion educated him on a given topic.

But the majority of the time it was not the education that made his processor twirl in thought, as a matter of fact, it had been _Orion_ himself. They both had shared a common aspiration to change the world, and drain the injustice, which had spread itself out into every corner of the once glorious planet.

However, Orion Pax could be at times exceedingly credulous towards him. It was almost as if the archivist forgot what a gladiator of Kaon was capable of. How easily he could have caused great harm upon Orion, the chances of that had always been too high.

Then came the betrayal, that painful treachery, that left him appearing like a fool before the High Council. They glared at him; those forbidding optics bore intensely into his frame. In a whirlwind of humiliation and rage, he revealed his then new goals and ambitions for Cybertron and left, his handful of underlings that had somehow managed to squeeze into the building, trailing obediently behind him.

 _The sorrow and wistfulness that was etched deeply on Orion's faceplates would be forever embedded into his processor._

"You carry the weight of many _long_ slain soldiers"

 **What?**

His lengthy train of thought swiftly "de-railed" as his optics went wide in a perplexed fashion.

 _That voice…_

Was this the beginning of the torment, the ominous suffering that was, so he believed, to ultimately shred his sanity? A shiver snaked its way down his spinal strut, leaving behind an icy residue. It was here where the once fearsome warlord " _wavered_ ", debating intensely whether to ignore the rumbling murmur and treat it as a mere figment of his imagination or rotate himself around to behold the "sight" before him.

 _Whatever that_ _ **sight**_ _might have been…_

"Why do you hesitate?" The voice re-established itself, the rumbling murmur reduced marginally to a more gentle tone. The mangled mech took a step back within inside himself, the question and tone catching him off guard. However, the tone, that cursed sweet-tempered statement, ignited a flame of vengeance in his spark chamber and for moment, he prepared to swivel around and charge blindly at the beholder of the voice. But he couldn't…he wouldn't. His pedes appeared locked to the rust covered ground below him and his ability to move gilt-edge, suddenly ceased. Gladiators, though barbaric and wayward, never turned their backs upon another Cybertronian they saw as intimidating or a threat and despite the fact he had yet to observe the others' faceplates, he did not doubt that they could sense his indecisive attitude.

Be that as it may, he was also cunning and being cunning was an exemplary trait within the Pits' walls.

 _He wasn't out for the count yet…_

"I experience no such qualm towards you but am merely in a perplexed state of mind"

The reply was swift.

"Even in exile your wits are as sharp as ever…Megatron".


	2. Duty?

**_"_** ** _I experience no such qualm towards you but am merely in a perplexed state of mind"._**

 ** _The reply was swift._**

 ** _"_** ** _Even in exile your wits are as sharp as ever…Megatron"._**

A devious smirk befell the former Warlord's faceplates, the gleam of his vermillion optics intensifying. Exile? How bigotry of a Prime, a figure of utmost purity and prestige to have the temerity to suggest he was enduring banishment. Waves of serenity flowed gracefully in the once tense air; the restive air, and whether its goal was **to** ease the discomfort, it was ignored…greatly. Darkness suddenly enveloped the plateau as the clouds above shielded the rays from the sun that soothed the war-hardened ground below, now leaving it cold and raw. A cool breeze swam its way around the mangled mech and he tensed at the unwanted foreign touch.

"What do you want of me?" Megatron spat, his words like daggers upon a spark slowly yet viciously obliterating it. "Is your presence not torment enough?" Megatron felt a familiar sensation bubble fiercely within the pit of his tanks and it was a sensation that forced countless memories into his processor, none of which were welcomed or amiable.

 _Rage_

Rage because he truly did believe he was losing his last fine strands of sanity, rage because he had unexpectedly become foreseeable and rage because he didn't understand. His weakness; his cursed only weakness, was trying to comprehend something he could not and this lead him to **become** foreseeable.

"I humbly request your ear, Megatron"

"…And what would a Prime be so compelled to say to me".

The hostility, animosity and resentment that were smothered thickly over the former warlord's words would have been enough to startle anyone into submission. His intimidating disposition and demeanour also radiated his disgust to the same effect, elongated talons gradually forming tight fists at his sides. But yet, his audio receptors picked up absolutely no sign of nervousness in the Prime's vocals; there was no uncertain sighs or any murmurs of disbelief after he had replied to _said_ Prime.

"Before I explain myself fully, I struggle to comprehend where you stand. You affirmed that you have been detoured from oppression and claimed you cease to want to commit it, yet now you lumber across this plateau with no set destination and each stride you take is evidence that you carry an unnecessary weight; a burden. But of what burden you bear, I cannot fathom it…"

Without warning, Megatron felt the restrains of his formidable bubbling rage rupture and the abrupt sentiment of pure malignance, anger, rose rapidly to the surface. His newfangled frame writhed, his balled digits threatening to lacerate the palms of his servos as a flurry of powerful yet obscure electromagnetic waves darted outward from within him. Did Optimus, in all his merry wisdom, struggle to perceive why the former warlord had removed himself from society? Had the Prime become blind? In the heat of the moment, the mangled mech span swiftly on his heel and allowed his infuriation to flow freely from his intake.

"Of what burden do I bear? Can you hear yourself, Prime? My servos, these destructive lengthened talons, are tainted and branded with the spilled energon of countless Cybertronians, a thousand fold! What part of that can you **not** fathom? They, all of those whose sparks were extinguished by my hand, wish to torment me and find pleasure and gratification in my downfall. I see their faceplates, Optimus! Smothered in their own energon as they dance around me in their own ashes and they scream, _oh those ear-piercing wails_ , and their crazed optics track my every movement! I can only pay them no mind for so long but they want me to remember, they want me to remember every life lost! I murdered them; drinking in every fearful whimper, and every plea they choked for me to stop…I paid no mind to them. Do you not see, Optimus? Do you not grasp the scope of the tragedies I have committed?" The warlord paused slightly, feeling his anger being to ebb before hastily continuing. "Excluding myself from society is **my** choice and mine alone, you will not sway me so easily into returning to civilisation, Optimus…"

Megatron felt his internal cooling systems stutter and wheeze at the intensity of the sheer pressure they had just endured; the twitch of the recalibration of his optics was lengthy. The sight he witnessed however, after said recalibrations, shed light in places that the former warlord had not dared to delve.

His optics, vermillion pools of anguish and rage, widened to the lengths of those many great years younger than himself. The strong grasp of confusion and bewilderment wrapped itself tightly around his frame as he, one of the most feared mechs and imposing gladiators in the entirety of Cybertron's history, took a step back, his optics never faltering once.

 _Before him stood a spirit_

The ghostly transparent figure of the last of the Prime's stood right before him, those bold blue optics glistening strongly in the darkness of the sun's short absence.

And then came that booming voice that spoke volumes of authority and demanded instant respect that Megatron had beheld time and time again as Optimus had addressed his minions each by their name to thwart Megatron's schemes, much to his dismay.

"You know as well as I, Megatron, that civilisation will flourish at a hasty pace and it will spread across the length and breadth of Cybertron at a similar speed. One mech can only hide himself away for so long and I know very well that you never intended to succumb to such a fate. To become a self-proclaimed outcast is not the path that needs to be trodden" The great Prime paused momentarily as he observed the stance Megatron had slipped into and quickly noted that it was defensive. "You seem troubled?"

The former warlord said nothing and a sudden awkwardness filled the space around them.

How? How was it possible for the last Prime to be standing right before him? Had he not perished; sacrificed his own life to return the Allspark to the Well? He had seen it! Optimus had opened the Allspark's container and released its mystifying contents into his own spark chamber while the chaos bringer had taken his frame captive. Unicron had been so focused and fixated on ridding the last of the Primes from existence, that he had foolishly allowed his goal to eradicate his rationality.

 _An imbecilic action that lead to his downfall…_

Megatron was awoken from his train of thought when the Prime began cautiously edging towards him in what appeared in an attempt to **not** startle him.

"I understand that my presence isn't what you anticipated and that your beliefs on phantoms and apparitions has never been steadfast, but your optics are playing you no illusion," The Prime halted in front of the mangled mech, assessing the miniscule changes in his EM field. "I stand before as I have done for millennia and my time here…now, is drawing to a close.

There was a pause; one long enough to drown out the pleas of mercy from the past that his processor was so insistent of replaying.

Gradually, the former warlord straightened his posture as he began to ponder just how the Prime stood before him. His optics were hesitant to fall upon the Prime again after gawking at him as if he had been enslaved by a revolting and ravaging virus, but slowly, while wavering slightly, they came to settle on the transparent figure of Optimus Prime. A sudden grip of uncertainty clung tightly to him as before him the great Prime began to smile, small but…meaningful. Megatron found it relatively hard to dismiss the fact that it wasn't all that long ago that the distance they now currently shared would have resulted in some form of witticism on his behalf, followed by a further form of conflict; barbaric or "wholesome"

 _…_ _wholesome by their standards…_

"How?" Megatron stated plainly, his voice too soft for his liking as the muttered word left his intake. "How is it that you have come to acquire this form in such short time after your demise?"

Optimus' bold and bright blue optics flickered and his small smile grew as he fondly looked up at the sky to meet the sun while it maneuvered itself into sight.

"It is my duty as a Prime to watch over my people to not only ensure their safety but to see them flourish on our newly revived home. This form I carry myself in does not allow me to physically interact with others however, it does not stop me from showing myself to a select few. In essence, those whom I feel need guidance, those whom doubt themselves or perhaps struggle with the many obstacles that life presents; I can provide them with aid…"

"I do **not** require the incompetent aid of a librarian…"

"I'm aware, Megatron," Optimus said, a pinch of chagrin peppered over his reply. "However, I believe there is, in fact, someone who requires yours…"

The mangled mech blinked his vermillion optics a few times and cocked his spiked helm to one side while he processed the millions of queries, which now cluttered his processor.

In curiousity, Megatron took a step forward. " What do you mean?"

Almost instantly the Prime swiftly flung one of his servos out in front of him, and from that very servo, a bizarre mist began to form as it started to envelope the pair. The former warlord, who was taken by surprise, growled lowly through his tightly clasped denta as the abnormal fumes erased the area around him. His optics were a flurry of unrest as he tried to comprehend the current affair but finally his gaze fell upon the Prime, whose optics had a sickening energetic glow. Was this some form of a cruel joke? He did not know…

"You best have a flawlessly good reason for this necromancy, Prime! I do not appreciate this-this utter obtuseness!"

"I assure you, old friend, that everything will be explained momentarily. As for now, I strongly suggest you remain placid…calm…" Optimus replied, trying to sound the slightest bit enthusiastic to ease Megatron's discomfort. The Prime thought deeply regarding the most effective yet reasonable way to inform the former warlord of his next chapter. The task, he knew clearly, was not easy and his doubts regarding it were guiltily numerous.

"Megatron," His voice sounding more gruff than he had wanted. "You have been chosen to perform a duty which represents chastity and honour. It will require your witticisms and both your physical and mental strength to overcome it. Although I am aware that the idea of atonement does not satisfy your tastes currently, this duty, if performed efficiently and correctly, could grant you that very gift. Primus, our very life giver, has given me his holy word that all who forgive will be forgiven and thus he has entrusted you to perform this duty with the utmost care and consideration. My friend, brother…good luck"

 _What?_

 _Duty!_

 _What duty?_

A swarm of questions unexpectedly bombarded Megatron as he felt his very spark rate soar to heights he had never experienced. He was about to object to what he believed to be nonsense, but he suddenly found himself rapidly hurtling towards the…ground?

 _The ground!_

He clawed at the air around him hopelessly and could only imagine at how utterly pathetic he looked as his elongated digits strained from the abrupt erratic movements. The mangled mech's struggle intensified and by the time his optics locked onto something he could only presume was solid ground, he collided heavily into it and lost consciousness…


End file.
